


Winter Roots

by abbyfick



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Azure Moon Route, Friends to Lovers, Frosted!Felix strikes again, Hanahaki Disease, Literal Sleeping Together, Locked-room Hanahaki mystery!, M/M, Post-War, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In, idiots to lovers, they are actual idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:54:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24146215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abbyfick/pseuds/abbyfick
Summary: Felix had known for a long time that he was in love with Sylvain, but he also knew the nature of the man he loved. Sylvain would never want Felix, so for the sake of their friendship, Felix would take his secret to the grave.Only Felix had never imagined he would be crawling toward his grave like this, hunched over and suffocating on flower petals. It was more important than ever to guard his secrets now, but it would be difficult.It’s hard to keep secrets from someone when you’re trapped in a tiny cabin with them, buried under almost three meters of snow.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 22
Kudos: 234





	Winter Roots

The war was over, and Felix should have been happy.

Instead, his mind was racing and his arms were shaking with fatigue as the sun set over the training grounds at Castle Blaiddyd. Maybe if he just pushed a little harder, he would be tired enough to actually sleep that night. It would be a nice change, sleeping.

The heavy oak doors creaked open, but Felix continued his kata as though he had heard nothing. When his exercises finally carried his gaze toward the interloper, he was not surprised to see it was Sylvain. Sylvain, after all, was the last of his friends remaining in Fhirdiad since the war ended last moon, apart from the King himself.

It was the look on Sylvain’s face that made him stop. He felt his brow furrow with concern, and quickly reshaped the expression into an angry glare. 

“What do you want?”

Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck, and Felix’s heart dropped into his stomach. He knew what was coming next, and he did not want to hear it. He turned and marched over to the weapons rack, setting his sword down with hands he had to fight to keep steady.

“I’m leaving, Fe.”

“It’s about time.” 

He flinched inwardly at the hard edge in his voice, at his inability to say what he meant to his oldest and closest friend. 

_No, don’t go._

Sylvain went on as though Felix had politely inquired about his plans, like a normal person would have.

“The Margrave summoned me back. Something about another Srengi incursion at the border. I’ll be wrapping up my affairs here tomorrow, and heading out the next morning.”

Felix was glad he still had his back to him. He closed his eyes, and struggled to keep the fury out of his voice. “He’s sending you to fight?”

The other man’s hollow laugh scraped at him like a dull blade. “Lance of Ruin can’t wield itself.”

Felix let out a heavy breath and turned to face him at last. “Your father has men he can send.”

Sylvain shrugged. “He’s sending me.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Both of their eyes widened in shock. Felix, always so careful and cutting with his words, had definitely not meant to say that.

Sylvain recovered quickly, plastering a big, crooked grin onto his face. 

“Doesn’t Duke Fraldarius have responsibilities of his own to attend to?”

Felix scoffed, and hoped it covered the genuine hurt in his voice.

“Never mind, forget I said anything.”

“Wait, Felix-”

Sylvain’s hand wrapped around his wrist. Felix hadn’t even realized that his feet had started carrying him to the door, so eager was he to escape this disaster of a conversation. The other man’s eyes searched his face for a long moment before he spoke again.

“ _Can_ you come with me?”

“My uncle has Fraldarius well in hand. And... a tour of Gautier and our northern border might be useful, as Duke.”

This time, the smile on Sylvain’s face was genuine.

“You’ll be ready to ride out in two days?”

Felix pulled his arm free from Sylvain’s grasp, scowling.

“I’ll have to talk to Dimitri, but I’m sure it’s fine. I have nothing keeping me here.”

_Not if you’re leaving._

.

The bandits ambushed them on the third day of their journey north. Felix was the first to realize that something was wrong. The dry grass of the Itha Plains still rustled in the wind, but the last birdsong of the season, the disgruntled buzzes and trills of straggling larks and the panicked warbles of thrashers defending the territory they would soon abandon, all of it, was suddenly absent. 

He almost didn't notice it beneath Sylvain’s incessant fucking chattering.

“-and I know you don’t really care about theatre, Fe, but even you would enjoy _Kyphon’s Lament_. It’s such a shame we had to leave Fhirdiad right before opening night! I’m dying to know how they were going to stage Kyphon’s fight sequence in the final act, the script calls for him to use _three swords-”_

Felix drew his own sword silently from his hip, but the flash of the blade in the afternoon light drew Sylvain up short.

“Whoa, okay, I can talk about something else if-”

“Shut up, you idiot. Listen.”

Sylvain was quiet for all of five seconds.

“Uh, I don’t hear anything?”

“ _Tsk._ Exactly. Something’s wrong, I think-”

The sickening _fwish_ of an arrow whispered past his ear, close enough for the fletching to brush against his hair.

He finished his thought with an eloquent “ _Fuck,”_ as he sprang sideways off his mare and rushed toward the hidden archer in a chaotic zig-zag. Felix had no idea what was waiting for him behind the swell of that hill, but he prayed they wouldn’t be too badly outnumbered. A handful of bandits would be no match for them, but they were still only two men.

Felix figured out that Sylvain had the same concerns the moment a fireball arced high over his head and ignited the hill. The hill that Felix was currently halfway up.

“ _What the fuck, Sylvain!”_

He turned and retreated back to the road as the flames swallowed up the dry grass.

Sylvain shot him a dazzling grin. “You go right, I go left?”

A two-man pincer attack. Maybe he wasn’t a total idiot after all.

Felix nodded sharply and took off around the side of the hill. The fire had obviously sent the bandits into a state of confusion, most of them only now staggering back from the hillside, rather than preparing to fight. Felix counted eleven men, all of them heavily armed, but poorly armored. He smiled to himself. This would be doable.

If he normally might have had reservations about killing men likely driven to desperation by a long war, those evaporated as soon as said men had tried to put an arrow in his throat. Felix cut them down without mercy. He went for the archer first, too slow to raise his bow again as Felix ran toward him at full speed. 

Everything that came after that was a blur. The scrum of swordsmen was easy enough to defeat, but he was almost caught off-guard by an axe moments later. He spun around just in time to catch its handle with his blade before kicking its wielder to the ground so he could finish him off.

When at last no one else came for him, he turned his attention to the far side of the hill, where Sylvain was holding his own against the remaining bandits, still on horseback. He had just run his lance through a gauntleted brawler when another man ran up behind him with a heavy hammer raised.

Felix’s throat went dry, and he sprinted forward, shouting Sylvain’s name.

Sylvain turned, but his weapon was still in the other bandit’s chest, so he had no way to parry before the hammer struck him in the ribs and sent him toppling from his mount.

Felix skidded beneath the hammer as it began to fall for a second time, his blade flashing as it removed the arm holding it aloft. The outlaw screamed for only a moment before Felix’s sword silenced him for good.

He glanced around quickly. That had been the last of them.

Sylvain was still lying on top of the last brawler he had killed. Felix kicked him none too gently in the leg.

“Get up, before your stupid fire spreads down here and burns you alive.”

Sylvain groaned and did not make to move.

“Dastard broke my ribs, Fe.”

Felix sighed impatiently and kneeled down next to him.

“Should have been paying attention then, shouldn’t you,” he muttered, but he placed his hands over Sylvain’s injury and sent a pulse of healing magic into him. “Better?”

There was another groan, but Sylvain rolled partially off the dead bandit, so that was a good sign.

 _“Sylvain_. Let’s go.”

The other man began shifting again. “Alright, I’m- Ooooh! What’s this?”

Sylvain pulled something off the bandit’s belt as he sat up. He held it out to Felix, grinning.

Felix rolled his eyes.

“We’re not stealing loot from these assholes.”

“But Felix, look how pretty!”

He glanced down at the item in Sylvain’s outstretched hand. It was a very fine dagger, with reddish-orange stones set in the handle.

Felix frowned at it longingly.

“Come on, Fe. You know you want it. Think of it as a reward for saving my skin!”

Felix snatched the dagger and scoffed as he examined it more closely. It _was_ pretty.

“You’re lucky I’m here to save it.”

The idiot winked at him. “I’ll say.”

Felix took a breath to tell him to fuck off, but it caught in his throat, and he ended up coughing instead. When he finished, his annoyance with the other man had mostly dissipated. He pocketed the dagger and whistled for their horses.

“Fucking smoke. Let’s get out of here.”

.

Sylvain had grown less chatty, more withdrawn, the closer they had gotten to his family home. Both of them hated the place, and the man who ruled over it with an iron fist. Sylvain had spent his entire life being ground down by Margrave Gautier, and seeing him still so affected by it made Felix feel sick. The worst part was, Sylvain didn’t believe he deserved any better.

Felix made up his mind as Castle Gautier loomed into view. They weren’t children anymore, they had given up their youth to fight in a war that had lasted for six fucking years and cost thousands of lives. If nothing else, they had earned being treated with some respect. So he was done with the Margrave’s shit, come what may.

He just had not expected his newfound resolve against the man to be tested so soon. 

“What are you doing here, Fraldarius?” The Margrave was waiting for them on the castle’s front steps. His name sounded like poison on the old man’s tongue.

Felix drew himself up to his full height and glared back at him.

“ _Duke_ Fraldarius.” He cared little for his title, but that was beside the point.

The Margrave sneered.

“Forgive me. I was not expecting the honor of your company, _Your Grace_.”

“I have no intention of extending that honor a minute longer than is necessary. Sylvain will be escorting me to the Srengi border tomorrow at first light.”

“And why, pray tell, is _my_ son taking you to _my_ border?” The Margrave’s voice was deadly soft.

Out of the corner of his eye, Felix saw Sylvain shift uncomfortably. The Margrave still had not acknowledged his son.

“It is my duty as Duke to ensure the safety of this country. I thought it best to see firsthand what aid Fhirdiad may need to lend in order to settle this border dispute, once and for all.”

Felix ignored the other man’s enraged spluttering and began to walk up the steps. He wanted nothing more than to get away from the Margrave, but he wasn’t about to retreat, so all he could do was push past him into the castle. Sylvain hesitated for a moment before following.

They made it just past the Margrave when he spoke again.

“You think my son incapable of handling this matter?”

Felix turned and looked down on him from the doorway.

“It is not your son I find lacking.”

With that, Felix swept off to Sylvain’s private quarters, his friend at his heels. As soon as the door shut behind them, Sylvain let out a long, shaky breath and stared at him with wide eyes.

“Holy shit, Fe.”

Felix scowled.

“What?”

“You just… just, wow.” 

Felix had rarely seen Sylvain so flustered. He felt heat rise in his face, and he turned away to hide the flush.

“Well, he deserves it. And then some, if you ask me,” he grumbled.

Manic laughter erupted from Sylvain’s mouth. “I, uh, don’t know about you, but I need to burn off some steam after that little encounter. You wanna go for a few rounds in the training room?”

That sounded good to Felix. He allowed himself a small smile as they headed back out into the castle grounds.

To Felix’s immense satisfaction, the Margrave was nowhere to be seen.

.

In fact, they did not see the Margrave again before they left. Sylvain’s mood was lighter, almost giddy, as they rode north toward Sreng.

Felix closed his eyes against the rising sun and braced himself for another day of Sylvain’s non-stop monologuing.

“So we’ll be staying at a cabin outpost near the border, it’ll take us probably a day and a half to get there? My father’s men will have restocked it recently, so we should have more than enough provisions and firewood to last for the trip. Of course, I have no idea how long this will take, the reports were really vague on what the Srengi are actually up to. It could just have been some shepherds wandering too far over the border, that’s happened before. Either way, we won’t want to stay too far into the Red Wolf Moon because the weather gets really nasty this far north and we don’t want to stick around for that-”

For all his effort to tune him out, something in Sylvain’s words, or perhaps his tone, had struck him.

“Sylvain,” he cut in.

“Yeah?”

“How often is it just shepherds?”

Sylvain’s nervous laughter made his heart sink.

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Fe. The Srengi are pretty peaceful folk.”

Felix turned in his saddle to look at him, eyes narrowed.

“Then why has Gautier been at war with them for the past hundred years?”

Sylvain forced out another fake laugh. 

“What else does Gautier have to offer the Kingdom?”

Felix’s gaze flicked to the Lance of Ruin on Sylvain’s back, and his stomach churned. How many innocents had died to keep up this senseless charade?

As though reading his mind, Sylvain reached up and adjusted the Lance, trying to find a more comfortable position for it.

“I just tell the Margrave what he wants to hear you know,” he said, his voice soft, ashamed. “I’ve never… They always just take one look at me and run off.”

Felix met his eyes and frowned. His throat tightened when he saw the anguish on Sylvain’s face, and he had to clear it before he could speak again.

“Is that why you always go when he summons you? So he won’t send a battalion?”

Sylvain turned his head off toward the horizon and shrugged. “What else could I do?”

“You should have told me.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

They were both silent for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. 

Felix finally sighed, and put voice to his most immediate concern.

“We could just turn around and go to Fhirdiad right now. Tell Dimitri. Put an end to all this.”

Sylvain shot him a worried look. “But my father-”

“ _Fuck_ your father, Sylvain.”

Felix could have said more, a lot more, but he didn’t. 

Sylvain’s face scrunched up almost comically. “Can we still go up to the border for a few days before we head back to Fhirdiad?”

That was not what Felix was expecting to hear, and he didn’t bother disguising the confusion in his voice when he replied.

“Why?”

“Don’t be mad,” Sylvain began, and Felix immediately renewed his scowl. “Just, I kinda thought we could both use a bit of a vacation?”

“A vacation,” Felix repeated.

“Yeah. I mean, _I_ already knew we weren’t really coming up here to fight, and I know I should have told you sooner, but don’t you think it would be nice? Just a few days of peace and quiet, after everything.”

“After everything.” Felix apparently couldn’t come up with words of his own any more. 

“Yeah, you know. Everything.”

He did know. The war, the weight of the responsibilities that he had never wanted, _everything._

Felix cleared his throat again.

“Fine.”

The genuine smile on Sylvain’s face made Felix’s chest feel tight. He sat up straighter in his saddle and bit back his answering grin.

.

Howling winds awoke Felix the next morning. It took his brain a few seconds to work out where he was. 

A tent, obviously. Somewhere windy. There was a strange skittering noise glancing off the fabric, too.

He could see his breath clouding in front of his face. Why wasn’t he cold?

The arms wrapped around his waist finally registered, and Felix’s heart skipped a beat.

“Sylvain, get off me!”

The arms squeezed him tighter, and he heard a pathetic moan right next to his ear.

Felix shoved the other man away and sat up, then immediately regretted his decision. The temperature had dropped steeply overnight. Without Sylvain wrapped around him, he was freezing.

He gritted his teeth and stood, pulling one of the furs off his bedroll and around his shoulders. A peek out of the tent flap was all he needed to see they were in trouble.

“Get up, you idiot. There’s a storm.”

That got Sylvain’s attention. He scrambled to his feet and ripped open the flap, careless to his own state of undress. The smallclothes he slept in could not be providing him with any insulation against the howling wind and stinging sleet that instantly assailed them both.

“Fuck, _Sylvain!”_

Felix tore the flap from his hands and wrestled it back shut.

Sylvain let out a low whistle. “Well, this isn’t good.”

“Yeah, no shit. We’re gonna get stranded out here if we don’t turn back.”

“We’re only a couple of hours out from the cabin. Better we get stuck there than die trying to get back to the castle.”

Felix swore again, and started pulling on as many layers of clothing and furs as he could find in the tent.

“Sorry, Fe. Guess I should have known better. Nothing good ever happens in Gautier.”

He didn’t like the look on Sylvain’s face at all. It was like he actually believed the shitty weather was somehow his fault.

“You couldn’t have known this would happen,” he huffed. “It’s early for winter, even here.”

He picked Sylvain’s pants off the ground and chucked them at him.

“Get dressed, I’ll go get the horses ready. We need to get going, wherever we’re headed.”

Back on the road, they didn’t talk much. The gravity of their situation kept them both focused on little else but the progress of their journey. Felix was unnerved by how quickly the snow was accumulating. He couldn’t be sure of how long they had been riding since the sun was obscured by clouds, but already the world was blanketed in white to the point that he could no longer see the path they were supposed to be traveling on.

“Sylvain.”

“Yeah, Fe?”

“You still know where we’re going, right?”

Sylvain flashed him a dazzling smile. “You see that dip up ahead?”

He squinted. In the distance, he saw what looked like a long shadow running across the snow. “I think so.”

“That’s the River Gautier. Not very impressive most of the year, but it’s a reliable landmark. Once we cross it, it’s just under an hour to the cabin.”

Felix grunted noncommittally. The alleged river ran off in both directions, as far as the eye could see. He wasn’t sure that made it a fantastic landmark, seeing as they could be approaching it from just about anywhere at this point.

“Trust me, Fe. I’ve been this way more times than I can count. We’ll be there soon.”

A few minutes later, they reached the river. The bank was shallow on their side, steeper on the other. Down the middle ran dark, clear water, perhaps fifteen feet across. It did not look deep.

Felix paused to watch Sylvain navigate the crossing. The other man leaned forward and crooned gently into his stallion’s ear, encouraging him to descend the bank slowly at a diagonal angle. It took some more convincing to get him to enter the icy water, but before long they were across. They made it safely to the top of the other bank, then turned back to wait for Felix and his mare to join them.

He took a deep breath, and urged the animal forward. He would be the first to admit he was nowhere near as skilled as Sylvain on horseback, and he was certain the animal was fully aware of his lack of confidence. All he had to offer in assurance were a few tentative pats for her neck, and an impatient click of the tongue. Fortunately, she seemed eager enough to join the others, and forged ahead willingly.

They were halfway up the far bank when it happened. One moment, everything was fine. The next, the mare’s hoofs slipped in the snowy mud and she tumbled backwards, throwing Felix into the river.

Stars exploded behind his eyes as his head met a rock, and the sudden shock of frigid water forced all the air from his lungs. The next thing he was aware of were strong arms pulling him onto the bank, and a startling pulse of white magic easing the ache in his head.

Sylvain said something to him, and rushed away.

Felix felt like he was watching the world through the wrong end of a spyglass. He lay perfectly still as the other man approached Felix’s bleeding and bellowing mare. Sylvain raised his hand and stroked the velvet of her muzzle as the Lance of Ruin stilled her struggling. Felix began to shiver.

With the shivering came coughing, desperate, wretched coughing. He pulled his numb hand away from his mouth and saw something shriveled and purple in his palm. _River weeds_ , his brain supplied, and then Sylvain was carrying him up the riverbank, pulling him onto the other horse, wrapping his own dry cloak around him. He was shaking uncontrollably now, his entire body seizing with the impossible, unbearable cold.

He faded in and out of awareness, trembling and swaying in the saddle. In his brief moments of clarity, his hands and feet burned like they were on fire, and he heard himself moaning. Sylvain was talking to him, but he couldn’t make sense of anything he said.

Finally, to his immense relief, he stopped shivering. His eyes drifted open, and he was surprised to see the snow falling back from the ground to the sky. _Why doesn’t it just melt?_ he wondered, and then, _It’s so hot, it should be melting._

He reached up and began pulling at his collar, trying to rip off all the sweltering layers of fabric that he was sure would be the death of him. _Too hot._ Strong hands grabbed his and pinned them to his chest. He heard a pleading voice tell him to stop, wait, we’re almost there. _Where?_ Too tired to fight, he fell back into the voice behind him and stopped thinking altogether.

.

Felix came to with a full-body shudder. He tried to flex the burning ache from his hands and feet, but the movement only rewarded him with stabbing pain. Felix hissed involuntarily.

Something big and warm squeezed him. _Sylvain_.

“Felix?”

He grunted unhappily in response. It was all he could manage.

“ _Fuck_ , Felix. You scared me so bad.” Sylvain’s voice was raw, like he had been crying.

Somehow this made Felix feel even weaker.

“Hurts,” he complained.

Sylvain shifted, and Felix opened his eyes. The other man was leaning over him now, face cast into shadow by firelight.

“Where does it hurt, Fe?”

“Hands. Feet.”

Sylvain took Felix’s hands between his own one at a time, and gently poured healing magic into them. Felix sighed, and Sylvain slipped away to attend to his feet. 

As relief flooded his extremities, he let his gaze wander over his dimly-lit surroundings. He was in a bed piled high with furs and blankets, very close to a fireplace. And _Oh Goddess,_ he was naked. He felt himself blushing, and forced his focus back onto the room he was in. They had obviously made it to the cabin. It was small, but despite the screaming winds outside, it felt snug and well-insulated. He rolled onto his back and observed heavy roof beams laden with the shadows of crates and barrels, all manner of supplies stacked to the eaves. 

He made to roll over again, to see what was behind him, when his chest tightened. He curled back onto his side and coughed and coughed, tears streaming from his eyes. In an instant, Sylvain was back at his side, rubbing his chest, trying to use another heal spell to ease his breathing. It didn’t work.

“I’m sorry, Fe, I’m not good enough, I wish I could help-”

Felix grabbed at Sylvain’s hands and laced their fingers together, squeezing tightly, hoping it would shut the other man up. Miraculously, it worked. Sylvain crawled back into the bed and held Felix through his coughing fit. When his breathing finally slowed, he did not push him off. He dropped back to sleep, warm and safe.

.

It was not much lighter in the cabin when Felix awoke the next morning. Faint gray light fought its way around the edges of heavy brocade curtains, drawn tight against cold drafts. As his eyes adjusted, he recognized Sylvain’s broad figure hunched over the fire, tending to a bubbling pot of something that smelled vaguely like food.

It didn’t take long for Sylvain to glance over his shoulder and catch Felix’s eye. His expression transformed from a concerned grimace to a warm smile the moment he saw the other man was awake.

“Morning, sunshine.”

“Fuck off.”

Felix’s irritated grumble only made Sylvain throw his head back and laugh.

“Guess you’re feeling like your old self again, huh.”

“Where are my clothes?”

“Hang on, I’ll grab you something to wear.” Sylvain walked around the bed, out of Felix’s line of sight. He didn’t bother rolling over to see what the other man was doing, but he heard rummaging sounds, and after a moment, a soft bundle landed on his head. “And, ah, just to be clear, I stripped you down to save you from freezing to death, so you’re not allowed to murder me for it.”

Felix yanked the clothing off his face and scowled. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

He dressed under the blankets as Sylvain returned his attention to the fire. When he was done he sat up, but he kept the blankets pulled up to his chin. 

The cabin was bigger than it had looked the night before. Sylvain had pulled the bed very close to the fire, and there was a good bit of space on the other side of it. There was a small table, two chairs, and a large chest lining the stone walls, in addition to all the equipment and supplies stuffed into the rafters. A tiny half-door stood to one side of the fireplace, and a heavy curtain on the opposite wall appeared to be covering the main entrance.

“Is that breakfast?”

“Maybe,” Sylvain drawled. “Why, are you hungry?”

 _“_ Not especially. It smells like horseshit in here.”

Sylvain laughed and jerked his head toward the half-door. “That’ll be the stables. They have their own entrance out back, but there’s a shortcut in case of weather like this. The fireplace heats both sides.”

A memory came unbidden to Felix’s mind at the mention of the stables: _Sylvain kneeling before Felix’s injured mare, his face streaked with tears as he showed her a violent but necessary mercy._ A spasm went through Felix’s chest, and he coughed twice, hard enough to hurt.

Sylvain’s brow furrowed. “You were coughing a lot last night, too. You’re taking it easy today, Fe.”

Felix was tired enough that he barely felt like arguing. “Isn’t it still snowing anyway?”

“Yeah, a proper blizzard. I guess we’re both taking it easy then. Heh.”

Felix was barely listening. When he had spoken, he felt something soft and papery in his mouth. He checked that Sylvain’s attention was elsewhere, then scraped it off his tongue with his nails. Whatever it was, it was small and dark and it stuck flat to his fingertip. 

Another memory surfaced, _purple river weeds_ , and Felix frowned. How much water had he inhaled yesterday? He rolled the offending flora between his fingers and flicked it to the floor, then tried to push it from his mind.

He snapped back to attention when a tray was dropped unceremoniously into his lap.

“Sylvain. Is that a fucking tea set?” 

Sylvain grinned. “Grandmother Gautier’s finest ambrosia pattern. You like?”

It was the stupidest, frilliest tea set Felix had ever seen. Splashy pink flowers competed with gold filigree against violently green, very delicate china.

“Why is it _here?”_

“Some of us enjoy the finer things in life, Fe. You get stuck in a lonely cabin long enough, you’ll wanna have tea parties too.”

Felix snorted. “I doubt that.”

Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“What?” Felix snapped.

“There’s more than a meter of snow on the ground.”

“Okay?”

“And it’s still snowing.”

Felix just stared at him. If Sylvain had a point, he would need to spell it out more clearly, because Felix was exhausted.

The other man sighed. “And if we’re lucky, the first thaw will come at the beginning of the Great Tree.”

Felix rubbed his temple. “That’s... five moons from now.”

Sylvain smiled sheepishly. “Yeah. So, tea party?”

_“Fuck.”_

.

The winds stopped howling on the third day, all at once. Felix set down the sword he was polishing and cocked his head, listening intently. When the eerie silence had lasted a full minute, Felix sprang from his chair and stepped over Sylvain, who was sprawled across the floor in front of the fireplace, reading.

"Um, Felix-" Sylvain began.

Felix ignored him. Within seconds, he had thrown aside the curtain covering the entrance and yanked the door open. 

He was greeted by a solid wall of white. He stared at it blankly for a moment, then slowly pushed the door closed and turned to Sylvain.

“We’re buried in here.” Felix sounded awestruck. He was used to cold winters in Fraldarius and Fhirdiad, but he had never seen snow like this.

Based off his ridiculous smirk, Sylvain was amused by his reaction.

“This isn’t funny, Sylvain! We need to be able to go hunting, foraging, training-”

“‘Training,’ Fe? Really?”

_“I need to get out of this fucking cabin before I lose my mind-”_

Sylvain doubled over laughing.

“My company’s that bad, huh?”

Felix hurtled across the room and kicked him in his stupid ribs.

“Ow, _ow,_ those are still tender from the bandits!” He stood up, wiping tears of mirth, and, Felix hoped, pain, from his eyes. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been snowed in here, you know. Relax, okay?”

Felix glared at him.

“If I am stuck inside this cabin with you for five months, I _will_ kill you.”

“Good thing we’re not stuck inside then!”

“If we start digging out, we’ll just fill the cabin with snow-”

Sylvain winked at him, then jumped up to grab one of the timbers overhead and pulled himself into the rafters.

Felix clenched his jaw and rubbed his chest absently. “Will you quit showing off and just tell me what we’re going to do?”

“Ah, so you admit that was impressive?” 

_“Sylvain.”_

Something large clattered to the floor near Felix’s feet.

“Look out below!”

“You’re supposed to say that first, asshole!”

“Oh, whoops!”

A few smaller objects rained down around him, one of them glancing off his shoulder painlessly.

_“Sylvain!”_

Sylvain jumped down and landed in front of Felix with a loud thump.

“Yes?”

“What is all this shit?”

Sylvain hefted the first item that fell so it stood upright, and pointed to it. “This is called a _ladder,_ Felix, and-”

Felix coughed and punched him in the shoulder. He definitely wasn’t laughing.

Sylvain pouted. “Aw, you’re no fun. Go bundle up, I’ll get everything else ready.”

Sylvain dragged the ladder to one end of the cabin and propped it against the wall while Felix pulled on every layer of clothing he could find. 

A few minutes later, both men trundled out onto the roof through a small hatch. The sun was still behind clouds, but the light was blinding after so much time in a dark room. Felix blinked rapidly as his eyes adjusted.

He had to take several deep breaths before his mind accepted the reality before them. Snow blanketed almost everything in sight. It came up in drifts to the edges of the roof, and stretched out to the treeline, some hundred meters away.

“It’s not going to be as deep in the forest,” Sylvain assured him.

“Okay,” was all Felix could manage in reply.

After they strapped on their snowshoes, Sylvain handed Felix the lone hunting bow with a warm smile. 

“You take this. You have way better aim.”

Felix coughed as the other man dropped lightly off the roof and started trekking toward the trees. Before following, Felix surreptitiously kicked snow over a handful of purple weeds.

.

It turned out the stables on the back of the cabin were a lot larger than Felix had assumed. Apart from the stalls that abutted the chimney, there was a narrow run about fifteen meters in length to allow exercise. Felix had seen none of this from his journey to the roof earlier that day, because some long-ago Gautier had decided to dig the stables a few feet into the earth for insulation purposes.

“Pretty cool, isn’t it?” Sylvain beamed at him as he threw fresh hay out for his stallion.

“Definitely not what I was expecting,” Felix admitted. “Seems like a reasonably comfortable place for a horse to get stranded.”

“I am going to have to dig out some ventilation tomorrow before the air gets too stale.”

“I’ll help you.”

Sylvain raised an eyebrow. “That bored already?”

“You know I can’t stand sitting around all day.”

“Well, sorry about all this, then.” Sylvain waved his arms around demonstratively, a brittle smile on his face.

“Not your fault, idiot.”

Sylvain nodded, but he didn’t look convinced. “So, Saizo here needs some exercise-”

“Take your time. I’ll go start dinner.”

“You sure?”

Felix hated the uncertainty clouding the other man’s expression. He clenched his fists and scowled.

“You’ve been spoon-feeding me that bullshit porridge for days. It’s my turn to cook.”

Sylvain’s face split into a genuine smile, and Felix felt a tickle in his throat.

“Thanks, Fe. You’re the best.”

Felix had started coughing softly as he climbed up through the half-door back into the cabin. By the time the door was closed behind him, Felix was doubled over, desperately hacking and wheezing for air. He felt something shift in his chest, and when he was finally able to stand, he was light-headed. 

When his vision cleared, he froze.

Sitting on the floor in front of him were three perfect yellow flower petals. They were large and curved, like the ones on the tulips that grew at Garreg Mach, and they had absolutely no reason to be here on the frozen edge of Gautier and Sreng, in a cabin buried under almost three meters of snow.

Felix picked them up and smashed them in his fist as his mind edged toward panic.

He thought of the purple things he had told himself were river weeds, and he threw the tulip petals into the fire with a single, frightened sob.

He thought of the stupid books Ashe had forced him to read back at the Academy, and the silly, romantic protagonists who died for the sake of love.

He finished dressing one of the rabbits he had shot that morning, and flung it into a pot with shaking hands.

He thought of the deep snow outside that would not melt for five more moons, and how hard it would be to hide his ridiculous affliction from Sylvain in such close quarters.

He cut root vegetables into rough pieces with the dagger Sylvain had given him, and he stifled another sob.

He wondered how long he actually had left, and whether the man he loved would have to watch him die in this Goddess-forsaken cabin.

He buried his face in his hands and allowed himself to cry for just a minute.

Then he took a deep, calming breath, and finished cooking dinner.

.

Over the years, Felix had mastered the art of stifling his feelings. He had been a very expressive child, to the point that he was sometimes called a crybaby, but when Glenn had died and his father became a stranger to him, Felix had shut all of that down. 

That did not mean that he was devoid of emotion, far from it. Felix had known for a very long time that he was in love with Sylvain, but he also knew the nature of the man he loved. Sylvain loved women. In Felix’s mind, that was the beginning and the end of any argument about confessing his feelings. Sylvain would never want Felix, so for the sake of their friendship, Felix would take his secret to the grave.

Only Felix had never imagined he would be crawling toward his grave like this, hunched over and suffocating on flower petals. It was more important than ever to guard his secrets now. He could not imagine the all-consuming guilt that Sylvain would suffer if he learned that Felix was dying _because of him._

He wished he could remember more about his stupid fairytale disease, but he supposed the details did not really matter. He knew it could only be cured by requited love, which meant he was doomed. Questions of _Why me?_ and _Why now?_ and _How long will I last?_ were pushed away as quickly as they occurred to him.

It had been three weeks since the tulip petals and Felix’s awful revelation, and Sylvain had not noticed anything was amiss. Today, like most days, they passed the morning hours by hunting. Rabbits kept well in the snow, and should another storm hit, they would be well-stocked with meat for several days.

Felix spotted movement ahead, and he held up a hand to signal for Sylvain to be still. The rabbit’s winter coat made it difficult to spot in most circumstances, but this one had stopped to nibble on some tree bark, and the dark pine backdrop gave it away. He raised his bow and slowed his breathing, steadying his aim. He had just started to pull back the bowstring when something cold and wet smacked him in the back of his head. The arrow tumbled gracelessly into the snow, the rabbit bolted, and Felix spun around to see Sylvain grinning at him mischievously. 

_“Sylvain!”_

Felix glared at him, but he was already scooping up a snowball to fire off in retaliation. Laughing, Sylvain tried to run from him, but the snowshoes were a hindrance. He looked ridiculous, all high knees and swinging arms, and soon Felix was laughing too. Laughing, and then coughing, unable to stop.

He tried not to panic as he felt something large and soft catch in his throat. With one last cough, he spat it into his hand and collapsed, quickly plunging the evidence deep into the snow.

When he looked up, Sylvain was standing over him, concern etched all over his face.

“Fe-”

“Shut up, I’m fine.”

Sylvain frowned and removed one of his gloves, then reached toward Felix’s face.

“What are you-!” He tried to duck, but Sylvain was determined. A calloused thumb swiped over his bottom lip, making him shudder. 

Sylvain held his thumb up, forcing Felix to look at the smear of blood on it. _Oh._

“You’re obviously not ‘fine,’ Fe.” His voice was rough, and to Felix’s ears, almost angry. “I know you think I’m an idiot, but I’ve heard you coughing every day since we got here. If it’s gotten this bad, you need to be resting.”

Felix scowled, and tried to think of how he could argue his way out of this. He was still light-headed from his coughing spell, and his usual sharp retort died on his tongue before his brain could form it. “I’m fine,” he repeated dully, and stood up on wobbly legs.

Sylvain pulled his glove back on and continued to frown at him. “Let’s head back. I can draw you a bath when we get to the cabin.”

“A bath?” The two men had been attending to their hygiene with rough washcloths and a bit of warm water as needed. It was hard to be too concerned about smelling like a daisy when the whole cabin smelled like horseshit, after all.

A semblance of a smile returned to the other man’s lips. “Believe it or not, there is a tub up in the rafters. It’s just a pain in the ass to heat that much water, so it doesn’t see a lot of action.”

“Is there soap?” Felix remembered a time when his hair was actually clean, and felt a little wistful.

“Almyran pine-scented, even,” Sylvain answered with a laugh.

“You’ve been holding out on me.”

“I didn’t know a rugged outdoorsman like you cared about such things.”

Felix picked up the brace of rabbits he had dropped during his coughing fit and hit him with it.

.

The bath was heavenly. The metal tub was large enough that Felix could submerge himself almost fully, and it warmed him more deeply than any fire or fur blanket had managed to do in weeks. Breathing in the steam eased some of the pressure in his chest, too. He had not realized how constant that pressure had become until it lessened, and the implications brought a bit of the chill back into his bones.

 _It’s getting worse._ He had known it would happen, had hoped he had more time. Whatever he had coughed up that morning in the woods had felt like more than just a handful of petals. He was pretty sure it was an _entire fucking flower_ , and he knew that was not a good sign.

He sighed and dipped his head back, eyes closed, making sure his hair was thoroughly soaked before he began to lather it with that precious, pine-scented soap. He took his time washing it, massaging firmly into his scalp before running his fingers down through the dark strands. It had grown past his shoulders again, and he regretted neglecting it with every snag he encountered.

When he rinsed the last of the soap away and opened his eyes, he was surprised to see Sylvain staring at him. He coughed once, violently, and mercifully only a single petal came up. He swallowed it and fixed Sylvain with an annoyed glare.

_“What?”_

Sylvain, the sly bastard, _winked_ at him. “Oh, you know, just admiring your pretty hair!” Then he turned back to the book in his lap like nothing had happened.

Felix grimaced. He hated when Sylvain tossed meaningless flirtations at him like that. Apart from watching him fuck his way through every woman in Garreg Mach back in their academy days, it was probably the hardest part of being his friend. It felt like Sylvain was dangling the one thing Felix wanted _more than anything_ right in front of him, and then reality would settle back in to snatch it away. It hurt, and he knew if Sylvain had any idea how much it hurt, he would never do it. But he couldn’t know, so Felix had to endure it. Sure, he would snarl and bitch about it, but to the other man, that was part of the game. 

It was strange he hadn’t seemed to notice that Felix was too tired to play.

Felix sighed again. “Would you hand me a towel?”

Sylvain sprang up and grabbed one from where he had left it to warm in front of the fire, then handed it off to Felix, eyes conspicuously averted. Felix stood slowly, mindful of not dizzying himself. He felt pathetic, having to worry about that, but he _was_ tired.

He heard rustling behind him as he toweled off, and when he turned, he saw Sylvain undressing, apparently to take his own turn in the bath. Felix allowed himself to stare at the other man’s broad, bare shoulders for just a moment, until he felt his chest tightening again, and he had to force himself to look away.

.

Felix decided to humor Sylvain for a couple of days, and rest. If he was honest with himself, he was exhausted, but he still hoped that in a day or two he might feel better. He told himself he wasn’t in denial, he just didn’t know how _dying of fucking flowers_ worked, so who was to say his health couldn’t improve again, at least for a while?

In the meantime, he grudgingly allowed Sylvain to fuss over him with his shitty porridge and his ridiculous tea set and his refusal to let Felix lift a finger to do anything.

The problem was, a whole week had passed and he wasn’t feeling better. He had gotten very adept at coughing directly up his shirtsleeves, so any flowers too large to swallow back down could be hidden away instantly. Whenever Sylvain disappeared into the stables to tend to Saizo, Felix would drag himself over to the fireplace and carefully tip every petal and blossom into the flames.

There was one heart-stopping moment where Felix was certain Sylvain had figured it out. Their meat supply had dwindled enough that Sylvain had reluctantly left the cabin to go hunting. Felix had the misfortune of suffering a terrible coughing fit just before he returned, and had only thrown the whole white rose, thorns and all, into the fire as the hatch in the roof opened.

He was too winded to get back into bed right away, so he stayed leaning against the mantel as Sylvain descended into the cabin. He was on the bottom rung of the ladder when he paused and tipped his head to the side, sniffing.

Sylvain coughed and muttered something to himself as he tossed the day’s quarry onto the table.

Felix tried and mostly succeeded in pushing himself upright. “What are you on about?”

“Oh, it’s weird, but does it smell like roses in here to you?”

Felix felt his heart leap into his throat. He swallowed painfully, and prayed he wouldn’t cough up another damningly fragrant flower.

“Nope. Just horseshit.”

It was then that Sylvain noticed that Felix was out of bed, and worse, that his lips and chin were smeared with blood. Felix actually felt _grateful_ then for the sharp thorns that had torn up his throat and tongue, because this was enough of a distraction for Sylvain to forget about the phantom scent in favor of pushing Felix back into bed.

.

Another storm blew in from the west, and Felix felt more restless than ever. He knew intellectually that the deep snows would not have melted before spring regardless, but the fresh layer crushed the small, insane hope that he might somehow escape dying in that cabin.

“Good thing we stashed so many rabbits, huh?” Sylvain grinned at him as he dropped a breakfast tray into Felix’s lap.

“You say as you hand me another fucking bowl of porridge,” Felix muttered.

Sylvain ignored him. “Eat your marmalade this time. You’ll get scurvy and ruin that beautiful smile of yours.”

Felix didn’t have to look up to know the idiot had just winked at him. He laughed harshly at the idea of worrying about scurvy when he was already so thoroughly doomed. “It’s too sweet. Besides, when do I ever smile?”

“Felix, it’s literally called bitter orange marmalade. _Bitter_.”

“Whatever.” 

He choked down two spoonfuls of the monstrously sweet preserves to shut Sylvain up.

Sylvain cleared his throat. “So I found an old chess set while I was up in the rafters this morning.”

Felix should have known better. Sylvain never shut up.

“You wanna play?”

“I’m busy.”

“Feeeliiix-”

“Ugh, fine. Quit whining and get your stupid game.”

Sylvain was practically giddy with excitement as he set the chessboard up. Back in their academy days, he had killed a lot of time playing chess with Claude, and Felix suspected it had been a long time since he had had a willing opponent. Another small casualty of the war, no less tragic for its frivolity.

“Okay, so, do you know the rules?”

“My father taught Glenn and I how to play when we were little. It’s easy.”

Sylvain raised an amused eyebrow. “You’re white. You go first.”

By the time Sylvain had taken his third pawn, Felix was annoyed. “How do you keep doing that?”

Felix shoved his bishop diagonally to the edge of the board, as far as it could go.

“What, this?” Sylvain asked as his rook mowed down the bishop.

Felix glared at him.

“I know you’re not big into tactics, Fe, but are you even trying?”

“Shut up. In a real battle, I would have just cut that, that _castle_ down. It wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”

Sylvain laughed and tossed the bishop onto the pile of white pieces accumulating on the bedspread next to his thigh. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Why don’t you have a Go board? Or a real game, like Tak?” he grumbled.

“You know those still require strategy, right?”

“Maybe if you’re an idiot.”

Felix couldn’t help smiling at Sylvain’s fond, bemused laughter. He also couldn’t help coughing, a flurry of petals flying hidden up his sleeve.

.

They had been in the cabin for almost two months now, and Felix felt weaker every day. He rarely got out of bed anymore, and as if the flowers weren’t doing enough to cut off his air, Sylvain’s concern was also suffocating him. Felix was terrified that he would slip up, that any moment Sylvain would see the flowers and find out that Felix was dying for him. He wasn’t sure how he could make it to the end without him knowing, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to try.

He was always careful to cover his tracks. He learned to check the bed each morning after Sylvain got up, to gather any petals he might have coughed up in his sleep. He had found jasmine blossoms in the pillows once, and odd, red tubular flowers that he had never seen before. He wondered at the variety of his emissions, and wondered if there was any special meaning behind them. Hadn’t Sylvain once mentioned a “language of flowers?” His curiosity was fleeting, however. He didn’t have the energy to care about much but protecting Sylvain, preventing him from learning the truth about Felix’s fate.

Felix shifted and picked up the small piece of wood in his lap. He had begun whittling the day before, slowly and painstakingly, to pass the time. He felt a strange desire to make use of what he thought of as _Sylvain’s dagger_ , the one he had given to him just before all this had begun. It was foolish, but he had come to treasure it.

He carefully pressed the blade into the wood and began to chisel it away. After a few minutes, he stopped to admire how delicate the little wooden cat’s ears were becoming, and he smiled to himself.

Sylvain cleared his throat, and Felix looked up. The other man was staring at him. He had been doing that a lot lately, and it made it very difficult to breathe. 

_“What?”_ He frowned and set down the dagger, bracing himself for another coughing fit when Sylvain inevitably began flirting with him.

“Oh, I was just wondering when you learned the Brigid technique.”

Felix shot him a quizzical look.

Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck and nodded toward the tiny carving. “You’re really good.”

Felix kneaded at his aching chest, trying his hardest not to lose his composure. “Petra loaned me a book about woodcarving once. Back at the Academy.”

He picked the dagger back up and began carving again. “You can have this, when it’s done.”

Sylvain didn’t answer, so Felix looked up again, just in time to see the other man’s troubled face transform into a painfully forced smile.

“That’d be great, Fe.” Sylvain jumped up from his chair and slouched over to the stable door. “I’m gonna go take care of some chores, okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Felix let out a long, ragged breath and began coughing. He wasn’t sure how long he would have alone, so he dragged himself over to the fire as quickly as he could and dumped a day’s worth of flowers into the flames. There were so many now, more than Felix would have guessed possible. There were more whole blossoms than lone petals. He leaned against the mantel and let tears fall silently from his face. He knew there wasn’t much time left.

Falling back into bed wrenched his lungs, setting off a fit so long and difficult that he was retching and heaving and seeing spots by the end of it. The giant red flower he spat out barely fit in his mouth. He stared at it, shaking, trying to catch his breath, afraid that he might never catch it again.

A cough behind the stable door alerted him to Sylvain’s imminent return. In a panic, Felix flung the flower toward the fireplace just as the door opened.

Felix squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to breathe normally.

He heard Sylvain’s footsteps stop near the hearth, then there was silence.

“Felix.”

He was too tired to open his eyes. “What?”

Footsteps again, then the edge of the bed sank down as Sylvain sat next to him.

“Felix,” he repeated. Sylvain's voice was shaking, and suddenly Felix knew what was coming next. 

His heart sank. He had fucked up.

“What is this?”

He finally opened his eyes. Sylvain was holding the ill-fated red bloom between them, staring at it in horror.

Felix scowled and looked away. He was sure Sylvain already knew exactly what it was. The man knew everything. It was one of the things Felix loved most about him, as much as he wished it were not the case at this particular moment.

Sylvain grabbed his wrist and squeezed, hard. “You’ve had Hanahaki disease this whole time.”

“Is that what it’s called?” Felix kept his voice as flat and nonchalant as he could manage.

Sylvain let out a half-laugh, half-sob. “It’s when flowers grow in your lungs-”

“I know what it is, idiot.”

“Oh, _Felix_.”

He wrenched his arm out of the other man’s grasp, and began coughing again. A handful of small, curled purple flowers scattered across the bedspread. No point in hiding it now.

“Who is it?” Sylvain spoke softly, but he sounded _broken_. It was almost more than Felix could stand.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Sylvain looked up at the ceiling, tears pooling in his eyes. “We have to find a way to get to them. It’s not too late, you just have to tell them how you feel.”

“I said it doesn’t matter.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I, I could have been digging a path south, or building a sled so I could pull you-”

“ _Sylvain.”_

“Who is it, Fe?”

“It doesn’t matter. They don’t love me.”

Sylvain slumped forward like the wind had been knocked out of him. “You can’t die, Felix. _You can’t._ ”

“I’m sorry,” he answered quietly.

“I don’t know what will happen to me when you go,” Sylvain whispered.

“What are you- Don’t talk like that!”

Sylvain buried his face in his hands, and his shoulders shook. Felix had never felt so defeated in his life. The only thing he had wanted was to keep Sylvain from being hurt. Even though he somehow didn’t realize that _he_ was the object of Felix’s doomed affections, he still blamed himself for not being able to save him.

Felix summoned the strength to lift his hand and place it on Sylvain’s arm. The moment he touched him, Sylvain’s sobbing turned into coughing. He tightened his grip on the other man, helpless to do anything more to comfort him. 

A shudder went through Sylvain’s body, and then a pale yellow flower fluttered from his lips and settled onto the blanket between them.

Felix stared at him in disbelief.

“I don’t know what will happen to me when you’re gone,” Sylvain repeated, his voice shattered, “because I love you, Felix.”

For a moment, it felt like all the air had gone out of the room. Then Felix took a deep, gasping breath, and his lungs filled with air, flooding his body with all the oxygen it had been starved of for weeks. His vision went white around the edges, and he pressed his eyes shut as he breathed deeply in and out, over and over, unable to fully comprehend what Sylvain had just said.

 _It must be true_ , he realized. How else could he be breathing like this?

With his newfound strength, he sat up and pulled Sylvain into a kiss. It was a desperate, needy thing, held back for too many years to be soft and romantic like so many first kisses were. Sylvain kissed him back, _of course_ he did, but Felix still forced himself to pull away. He needed to make sure Sylvain understood.

 _“You idiot,”_ he breathed.

“Felix?” Sylvain’s voice was very small, and his whole body was trembling.

Felix hardly knew where to begin, but the words came spilling out anyway. “Sylvain, it was you. Of course it was you. Who else would I love?”

He felt Sylvain’s body relax against him as he let out a great sigh. Then his shoulders started shaking again, and Felix felt panic bloom in his chest. What was wrong? Had his confession not worked? What could that mean?

But no, the idiot was _laughing._ He tackled Felix to the bed and began peppering his face with kisses, and in case Felix needed any further assurance that he was okay, he also would not shut up.

“ _Fuck_ , Felix, I love you so much. I can’t believe how stupid we are, we wasted so much time. We almost fucking _died-_ Goddess, I can’t believe I almost lost you. I’m never losing you, never going to let you go-”

“Well, you certainly won’t be rid of me for at least three more moons.” He pushed Sylvain back far enough to look into his eyes. “And if you want, after we go talk to Dimitri about the deplorable state of Gautier… you could come back to Fraldarius, with me.”

Sylvain’s eyes widened, and a soft, uncertain smile crept onto his face. “Careful, Fe, or I’ll think you’re proposing to me.”

Felix buried his face in the other man’s neck and mumbled something incoherent.

Sylvain laughed and gently tugged Felix’s hair. “What was that, love?”

“I said, I intend to discuss that with Dimitri, too.” 

His face was burning at this point, but there was nowhere for him to hide, because Sylvain had cupped his jaw in his hands in order to stare at him reverently.

It seemed the idiot was finally at a loss for words. He leaned in and kissed Felix, sweetly at first, then with a hungry passion that took Felix’s breath away. He should have known it wouldn’t last.

“I think this calls for a celebration, Fe. Tea party?”

Felix wanted to strangle him, but he figured it would be easier to just kiss him again, so he did.

**Author's Note:**

> Eternal gratitude to [TK_DuVeraun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_DuVeraun/pseuds/TK_DuVeraun) for helping me brainstorm ways to kill time in a remote cabin and for giving this a once over before I posted <3
> 
> And now, for the nerds in the front row, a brief breakdown of the flowers these two idiots hacked up!
> 
> FELIX:
> 
> -The first purple “river weeds” that Felix coughed up were pansies, for compassion. He coughed them up when Sylvain had to kill his injured horse (RIP), and again when he later remembered that act of mercy.  
> -When Sylvain handed off the hunting bow to him on the roof, those purple “river weeds” were violets, for modesty. Felix couldn’t tell the difference so he got to cling onto his sanity for a bit longer.  
> -The yellow tulip petals that finally clued Felix in that he was fucked mean “There’s Sunshine in Your Smile.”  
> -The first whole flower that Felix coughed up, during the snowball fight, was columbine, for foolishness.  
> -The white rose that Sylvain smelled burning symbolizes secrecy.  
> -The huge red flower that almost killed Felix, and ultimately revealed his secret to Sylvain, was a camellia. It symbolizes both being in love, and perishing with grace.  
> -The curled purple blossoms he hacked up last of all were hyacinth, which mean “I’m sorry.”  
> -He coughed up a bunch of other, unspecified flowers throughout the story. A lot of those were probably jonquil (“Desire for Affection Returned”), and daisies (loyal love, “I’ll Never Tell”).
> 
> SYLVAIN:
> 
> -Felix found jasmine petals in the pillows. Those were all Sylvain’s. Jasmine is associated with love, and also symbolizes beauty and sensuality, because of course Sylvain thinks Felix is beautiful and sensual. (Who wouldn’t?)  
> -The red tubular petals Felix found in the pillows were also Sylvain’s doing. Those were bee balm (aka bergamot, but not the same plant that flavors the tea Sylvain prefers!). Bee balm is for the protection of health. Sylvain was stressing so hard, you guys.  
> -The pale yellow flower he coughed up when he confessed to Felix was primrose, which means “I Can’t Live Without You.”  
> -In his spare time, Sylvain was secretly coughing up lots of marigold petals (for grief) and azaleas (“Take Care of Yourself for Me”).
> 
> BONUS IDIOCY:
> 
> -Grandmother Gautier’s finest ambrosia tea set was a clue the whole time! Ambrosia means “Your Love is Reciprocated.”
> 
> **Thank you so much for reading, and for any kudos and comments you throw my way! They are all appreciated.**


End file.
